Dodici.

There is no direction, no master plan, I apologize for my ramblings.

I have this habit of reading through my blog posts, or journal entries, and having a strong impulse to delete them. I'm always so ashamed of myself, of my past. I'm ashamed of being ashamed, if you catch my drift. Note to self: break this habit. I heard somewhere that you must love yourself before you can love others. Bull shit, if you ask me.

I just got back from this party. I hated it, I don't enjoy social events. Why did you go then, dipshit? I know you're wondering that. Well, you see, I have this mother who just loves society and all its works. She loves how popular she is, unintentionally she brags about it to me. Constantly, I am pushed to be popular too. She says I need to make more friends. I'd rather have a pond of faithful fish than a sea of strangers, if you catch my drift. Back to the original point: It's really hard to fill her shoes, to be instantly adjusted when thrown into a social function. She adapts. I panic. I never understood how to mingle. Can someone teach me?

I looked into a mirror today. I realized this: I hate mirrors. I want to completely forget what I look like. I want to imagine someone better. End of story.

I relate to pennies quite well. Unused, unappreciated, about to be forgotten entirely. End of transmission.

Sometimes I lay in the concrete and hope to melt into it. That's impossible, you are stupid. Yeah, you're probably right. End of dialogue.

My goal in life is to become wonderful, because unlike the rest of you I wasn't born it. I guess I will die with unfulfilled hopes. End of desire.

I'm going to stop now. After this next one, I've completely run out of anaphoras tonight. End of blog.